A Stranger in the Queen's Menagerie
by universallyfictional23
Summary: A young noble woman, Florence W. Rowan, makes a sudden entrance into Victorian society as an assistant to the Queen. She seemingly knows everything about everyone, especially those in the house of Phantomhive. A game of cat and mouse-or rather, crow and fox-ensues between her and the butler, Sebastian Michaelis. What secret is she hiding?
1. The Queen's Fox

The prattle of well-to-do nobles, the tinkle of crystal, and the vibrato of 19th century chamber music filled the young woman's senses as she wound her way through the densely populated room. A glass of champagne was held aloft in one hand and the skirt of her satin admiral gown was clenched in the other. Though she moved with grace and fluidity like all the other guests, her lovely face was not merry like theirs. She wore a mask of neutrality and her lapis eyes swept the room before her, observing all. She was searching for someone.

Once her keen gaze had spotted that familiar mane of silver locks, she slowed her pace and made a leisurely bee-line for it. The man who belonged to the shock of silver was standing casually, making polite conversation with a few barons and earls. Approaching the small circle of men, the young lady put on her best face and addressed them in a feminine tone.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she interrupted with a lilting voice. "I hope I didn't disrupt your conversation."

A good-natured round of "no, not at all's"s sounded and she smiled flatteringly.

"Oh good! I'm ever so glad! If I may, I think I'll steal Emmett away from you for a bit," she stated, looping her arm through the silver-haired man's. "I have a few things I need to discuss with him, if you don't mind."

As she began to lead the man away, one of the gentlemen behind her called out to her.

"Before you leave, Lady Rowan," the man began. "What's this your head-of-staff has been saying about a ball to be held at Rowan Hall?"

An eyebrow quirked before she turned to face the herald of this news.

"Well, none of the particulars have been decided as of yet, Lord Greybain. But I can assure you that it is a definite possibility for the future."

With that, she turned away tugging Emmett with her.

"You need to stop telling people that I'm going to host a ball, Emmett," she dropped her voice to a whisper and resumed her placid mask.

"It is expected, Florence," he stated softly in his defense. "You turned of age last month. The nobles expect a social debut now that you're an adult."

"I thought that was the 'coming out' party at the age of sixteen," she murmured. After receiving no further words from her escort, she gave in gracefully. "Very well, I suppose there's no getting around it. We'll simply have to plan for a ball in the future."

Pausing to survey the room and take a sip from her champagne flute, the young woman was silent. Her head-of-staff glanced down at her for a brief moment, then spoke in a casual, quiet tone.

"What was it you wished to speak to me about?" He inquired.

"Have you made any progress?"

Neither of them looked at each other, but gazed out across the sea of merry nobles.

"None as of yet," he admitted. "Have you?"

"No, I haven't either." Her eyes narrowed. "But it won't do any good to stop now. The bastard is here in this room somewhere. We just have to locate him."

"Language, Florence," the man tutted disdainfully. "Don't sully your tongue with such speech."

"Forgive me," she sighed. "This whole case has been so frustrating and it disgusts me that this..." She trailed off, searching for a label for their quarry that didn't involve cursing.

"Unsavory cretin," Emmett supplied.

"Thank you. Yes. That this unsavory cretin is still on the loose because of us," she confessed.

A comforting, gloved hand patted her back.

"We are doing our utmost," he told her. "It will be enough, eventually."

"How many young women must suffer between now and then?" She questioned, not expecting an answer. She breathed another sigh. "Nevertheless, we must continue. Have you had a chance to inspect the nest?" She inquired, speaking in code.

"No, not yet."

"Then go," she urged. "Take this." She stealthily slid her pearl cameo from the bosom of her gown and into his gloved hand. "You found this in the hall after I dropped it when I went to the lavatory."  
Nodding appreciatively for the alibi, he concealed the pin and turned to face her.

"What about you?" He asked.

"I will continue to mingle." She gazed out grimly at the crowd.

"I wish you good luck then," he chuckled. "You'll need it more than I."

"I don't deny it," she responded good-naturedly. "Now, go on. Go."

As Emmett hurried away, Florence W. Rowan was left utterly alone in a room full of people. There were few settings she felt as out of place in as she did at parties. It wasn't as if she were socially awkward, quite the contrary. She possessed enough intelligence and grace to charm anyone if she so wished. It was the trivial interests of the nobles that barred her way every time, their obsessions, their prejudices. All of it was repugnant to her and she found that, up to a certain point, she simply could not pretend to be interested, let alone actually have similar pursuits.

Florence was an odd girl in that way. There were several things about her that positively stupefied her peers, such as the fact that her ears were not pierced. It was a simple fact about the young countess: she had never been much interested in jewelry. Her only adornments were in her hair and usually followed a natural theme-flowers and leaves and feathers. No necklaces, no bracelets, and certainly no distracting rings. The only reason she had worn her pearl cameo that night, in fact, had been for the very purpose it was currently being used for: Emmett's alibi. Everything had either a practical or aesthetic use.

Nevertheless, saying that she made an effort to blend in would be an understatement. She went above and beyond what she felt comfortable with every time she entered into society. It was crucial that she be seen as a social butterfly for her constant inquiries to be dismissed as "seeking idle gossip".  
Speaking of which, she had stood still for long enough.

Taking another hearty swig of her champagne for courage, she set off to join a circle of ladies a short distance away. They welcomed her into the circle immediately, though the conversation quickly turned in an unexpected direction.  
"So, Lady Rowan," a particularly impetuous young woman began, fingering her blonde tresses.  
"Oh, please!" Florence gave a laugh so musical no one knew it was forced. "Call me Florence! Don't make me sound so old!

I still have to catch a man, you know!"

High laughter chittered through the circle like a herd of hyenas.  
"Well then, Florence," the woman continued, her tone insinuated that she was about to divulge some gossip. "We couldn't help but notice how you always seem to stay close to your estate manager when out in public. Is there a reason for that?"  
Florence was surprised.

"Emmett? He's one of my dearest friends. He's known me since I was a child."

"Oh?" The other young woman's lips slid into a high smirk. "I thought he acted a bit familiar with you."

The countess knew what she was implying, but, for the aesthetics of the conversation, she inquired after the blonde woman's statement.

"What are you insinuating, Lady Cole?"

"Well, we were all wondering if perhaps there was something more going on between you two?" She clarified. "It wouldn't be surprising, since he is so handsome and in such a unique way. It would be quite the scandal, of course. But we would all wish you well," she assured Florence.

The countess gave an incredulous laugh, which was entirely genuine.

"Emmett and me?" Again, she laughed. She cared for the man a great deal, but such an idea was preposterous. After all, there were probably laws against it... "No, I'm afraid you'll have to search elsewhere for your scandal, Lady Cole. Emmett is an excellent head-of-staff, a wise advisor, and a dear, dear friend, but that is all he will ever be."

"So what you're saying is, he's unclaimed?" Asked another woman with red curls, her eyes twinkled teasingly.  
"Yes, but don't go stealing my best friend out from under my nose now!"

All of them laughed for several moments and continued to talk about nothing in particular, until the youngest in the group, a brown-eyed girl of no more than fifteen drew their attention to someone behind Florence.

"I say, now, who's that?" She inquired, pointing discretely.

Casually, Florence turned her head and opened her fan, peeking out over lacy edge. Fanning herself, she caught sight of a young boy, decadently dressed accompanied by a tall dark-haired man entering the room. She had only cast a glance their way and hadn't managed to get a good look at them.

"Oh, that's the child earl, Ciel Phantomhive," Lady Cole whispered.

Florence had to think twice at the name and, even then, she was almost certain she had misheard it. Looking back at the guests entering the ballroom, she tried to hide her stunned expression behind her fan.

 _No, it couldn't be!_ She almost refused to believe it. _It's impossible!_

She stood there, frozen in shock, while the soft conversation continued around her, unheard by her.

"He's very grand looking, isn't he?"

"Don't get any ideas, Arabella. He's two years younger than you and completely unapproachable since his parents died, the poor boy."

"Never mind about the earl! Who's that man with him? His uncle? Please say he's his unattached uncle!"

"The dark fellow? That's his butler, I believe."

The young woman's eyes settled unbelievingly on the tall, dark specimen of manhood accompanying the young earl. Never in her life had she seen a human so perfectly formed. He was lithe, graceful, and had the features of a genuine Adonis, only more beautiful, if it were possible. His besuited figure moved with the controlled motions of someone who was aware of their great strength and his bearing was proud and elegant as an eagle. His best features by far, however, were his ruby eyes that could stop the heart of anyone they were directed at as they peered through drifting ebony locks.

All the women stared at the dark man in awe.

"Oh, my," the red head murmured to break the silence that had fallen over the group.

"Isn't he just sinful?" Lady Cole stated with a wistful tone.

"He looks so... wild," another young girl-a brunette-breathlessly observed.

Indeed, she was right. Despite his pristine suit, posture, and orderly behavior, there was something so savage contained in those wine-colored eyes of his. The way that his feathery black locks fell in an untamed array around his face, some drifting down past his chin, only added to the feral flavor beneath his placid mask. From what Florence had seen, men were oblivious to these traits of the butler. Only women could pick up on the wild undertone to his appearance and it was extremely attractive.

"Do you know what his name is?" The redhead inquired generally.

"Oh... I can't remember," Lady Cole berated herself. "It's something Latin sounding, I think."

"Sebastian Michaelis," Florence whispered, still in shock.

All of the women in the group turned and stared at the woman lucky enough to know his name, then turned their eyes back to the man to fix the sound of his name to the sight of his face.

Unable to keep up her charade any longer, the young countess turned away from the group and mumbled a quiet "pardon me" before moving back to her flute of champagne and downing the entire thing. Fanning her flushed face with her fan, she found that she couldn't take her eyes off of him, the butler. The fact that she was beholding him in person at all was incredible to her. After several minutes of staring, however, in one terrifying instant, his ruby eyes met hers. Before she could cast her eyes away, he gave her what could only be considered as a positively devilish smirk. She blinked, then coughed slightly and looked away, hiding behind her fan.

 _Well, that wasn't fair_ , she grumbled mentally.

When she looked up once more, the butler was leaning down, whispering something in the ear of his master. Then he looked directly at her once more and began to walk her way. Quickly hiding her face behind her mask once more, she panicked.

A demon was walking straight towards her! What was she to do? And where was Emmett when she needed him?  
She could feel his presence encroaching like an ominous shadow and, to maintain some sense of tranquility, she turned her back to him, pretending to look out over the party. She raised her empty glass to her lips with trembling fingers and feigned a sip just to have something to do.

"Oh, pardon me, miss," came a silken voice from behind her. "I just need to.."

Glancing back at the devilishly handsome butler, still concealing everything but her eyes with her fan, she realized that she was effectively blocking the champagne table behind her. She meekly moved aside with a mumbled "Oh sorry".  
She remained there, next to the butler, hiding behind her face. The implications of this whole encounter sent her mind reeling. What did it mean if he was here? What did it mean for her? What did it mean for Emmett? Her entire body was stricken with this dizzying realization.

"Miss?" He spoke again. "Miss?"

Hesitantly, she peeked over her fan and blinked at him.

"Me?" She inquired, as if he could be speaking to anyone else.

"Yes, miss," the butler responded with a gentle smile. "I just wanted to know if I could pour you any more champagne. It would seem as though your glass is dry."

She glanced down to his pristinely gloved hands which gently cupped a bottle of the celebratory drink and the two full flutes he had already prepared, presumedly for his master.

"O-Oh, y-y-yes," she stammered like an idiot. "Yes, thank you."

Sebastian's expression changed and his eyes became a bit curious as he gazed at her, but he said nothing.  
Extending her glass to him, her hand trembled considerably. Predictably, Sebastian's hand was steady as stone as he began to fill her glass and this was just the problem. Her shaking hand provided a bit of a problem for him and he reached out and stilled her tremors by resting his gloved hand on hers.

There was an awkward silence.

"You seem rather nervous, miss," he noted, suspicion clear in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Michaelis," she hastily assured him, too hastily. She realized her error the moment it left her lips, as did Sebastian.

He halted in pouring her beverage to stare at her.

"I don't believe I told you my name," he stated, his eyes piercing.  
She cast her eyes down and fanned herself, staying quiet for a moment. She was relatively calm on the surface, but in truth she was scrambling for an explanation to offer him.

"Miss, how did you know my name?" He demanded, his voice a bit more adamant.

"Everyone knows of the impressive status of the Phantomhive butler," she offered coolly. "Your abilities are remarkable."  
Apparently, this was not satisfactory, because Sebastian's eyes narrowed and he frowned. It was a terrifying expression to have directed at her. She shrank instinctively.

"That is not true," he disagreed. "Noblewomen have heard of me because I am handsome," his blunt words surprised her."Noblemen have heard of me because I am an able-bodied butler. My 'abilities', as you put it, are unheard of because I am discrete. When one is successful, there is no need to _crow_ about it."

Her eyes shot upwards.

 _Had he just...?_

His choice of words stuck her as odd and she stared at his lips as though she wanted to make sure she had heard him correctly. Her abruptly intent gaze caught his attention. The man flexed his jaw and his eyes blazed down at her fiercely.  
Then she realized that she had been tested and had failed. The usage of the word "crow" had been intentional. Closing her eyes for a moment, she resigned herself to the fact that she had been thoroughly found out. She could've kicked herself for being so obvious.

The handsome man moved so close to her that his warm breath wafted against her forehead. His hand stealthily gripped her forearm, keeping her in place and under his control.

"What do you know, young miss?" His voice was low and threatening. "Answer truthfully, for I know you know something."

The young woman licked her lips and glanced around nervously. This exchange was not good for her public image. She became desperate to move away from the devilish man.

"It doesn't matter what I know," she told him, fearing what other's might think of her rather than the supernatural wrath of the man before her. "What matters is that I won't tell. Now, let go of me. And I'll thank you to keep away for the remainder of the night."

"My apologies, miss," he told her coldly. "But I can't do that. I will not leave you until you inform me what you think you know about me." He took her waist in his hand and collected her fingers. With crippling strength, he pulled her into a waltz and began to move towards the other dancing couples in the room. "Now, the sooner you cooperate, the sooner I will be satisfied and let you go."

She glanced around the room for a moment as the butler spun her, uneasiness in her gut. It was only when she realized that no was looking at her and the demon that she relaxed. She knew that what the butler said was true and that she might as well face the inevitable. She breathed a sigh.

"Very well," she responded, drawing herself up to her fullest height and turning her nose up slightly. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her changed demeanor. "Yes, I know something. I know a great number of things including your name, the fact that it is not your real name, and that you are not human."

"And just how, exactly, did you come by this information, madam?" He inquired, his blood-red eyes were grave.  
"That I will not tell you," she stated simply. "Even you-for all the extraordinary things you've done and seen-would not believe me, I daresay."

"Oh? Why don't you test that? Tell me," he bid her, his grip on her hand tightening to a painful clench.

"I'm afraid that's non-negotiable, sir," she informed him, gritting her teeth slightly because of the discomfort he was causing her. "I will tell you, however, that what I said earlier was true. I have no intention of telling anyone any of your secrets."

"Why not? I'm sure there would be people who would pay a great sum to learn the Phantomhive secrets. Why not sell the information you have?"

"Because they are not my secrets to tell," she stated indifferently. Then, more to the point, she continued, "Also, I clearly can't divulge how I came to learn these secrets, so why would I invite people to ask? Also, why would I risk a demon's ire? If I betrayed your secrets, I know my fate wouldn't be a pleasant one."

A slight smirk rose to his lips and caused Florence to inwardly curse his damned attractiveness.

"I believe you," he told her. "But are you certain I can't convince you to tell me how you know these things?"

His grip was much gentler now that he no longer saw her as a threat.

"Quite certain."

"Such a pity."

Florence peered up at him knowingly. He hadn't truly given up on finding out how she had known about him as he would've had her believe.

"May I at least have a pleasure of knowing _your_ name, miss? You _did_ know mine, after all."

"I suppose," she allowed. "I am Lady Florence Rowan, Countess of Newquay. I just recently moved here to London."

Sebastian looked genuinely surprised and it greatly pleased the young woman.

"I'm honored that you allowed me a dance then, my lady," he told her.

"Technically, I didn't," she stated with a smirk. "You sort of pulled me onto the dance floor."

"And I am now mortified, my lady," he told her, regret showing clearly on his face.

As a butler, it had been a significant breach of class to force her to dance with him. Florence, however, couldn't help but laugh. It was quite rare for Sebastian to make a social blunder.

"I had no notion that you were a countess, my lady."

"There was no reason why you would've," she calmed. "I didn't tell you and I doubt that you could've known me before tonight. I suppose I could've told you the moment we met, but, when you're a countess, there's no need to _crow_ about it." Her expression was sly and was met with a significant look from the butler. "Speaking of which, there is something I was wondering. What brings the Queen's Royal Guard Dog and Crow to a ball such as this?"  
"What would be your guess, my lady, since you appear to already know all of the Phantomhive affairs?"

"On the Queen's business, perhaps?" She mused pointedly.

"You're quite an astute fox, aren't you, Lady Rowan?" The butler complimented.

Florence had just opened her mouth to retort something clever, when a certain silver-haired man approached them and interrupted the dance.

"Forgive me, but may I cut in?" Emmett inquired, his silver eyes resting only on Sebastian, dark with detestation.  
Just for an instant, the young woman thought she might've seen a spark of magenta in Sebastian's red eyes. He didn't seem keen to show him any politeness either.

"Perhaps," Sebastian countered. "Who might you be?"

Emmett looked ready to spew fire and Florence could see a vein throbbing in his neck. Sebastian's grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly and his charming gaze fell to a dull look of dislike. Afraid that a scene might be caused, she quickly intervened.

"Ah, Sebastian, this is Emmett Preston, my head of estate and close friend," she introduced. "Emmett, this is Sebastian Michaelis, butler of the house of Phantomhive."  
Suddenly, the man's silver gaze left Sebastian and flew to his lady. He stared at her in a mixture of reproach and confusion.

"You're dancing with a butler?" He questioned.

"Yes, Emmett. Don't be rude," she chastised.

Shaking himself free of his surprise, he stepped forward.

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "I wished to tell you that I managed to find your pin, my lady." He held out his hand, her pearl cameo resting in his palm.

"Oh! Thank you, Emmett!" The girl acted, releasing Sebastian and accepting the pin.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," he assured her. "Now, if I may cut in, I would very much like a dance."

"Of course you may have a dance!"

"You're dancing with your butler?" Sebastian jabbed, his expression smug.

"No, he's my head of staff and dear friend, Sebastian," she returned. "I told you so when I introduced you."

"Shall we, Florence?" Emmett suggested familiarly, offering his arm.

Turning back to her previous dance partner, she added, "Thank you, Sebastian. It was very nice meeting you. I would love to meet Lord Phantomhive in the future."

"Indeed, perhaps we could all become better acquainted with each other," he suggested pointedly.

Before another word could be spoken between them, Emmett whisked Florence away and began to waltz her around the floor. After a moment of silent, almost brooding dancing, she summoned his gaze back to her.

"That was a bit abrupt, don't you think?" She stated.

His silver eyes strayed back to the form of the butler as he returned to his master and began conversing in whispers.

"Stay away from him, Florence," Emmett warned. "That butler had a demon's aura about him, a stench of impurity."

"I know," she assured him.

A shocked look entered into his eyes as his gaze snapped back down to her.

"You knew? Then why in the name of all that is good and holy would you go anywhere near him?!"

"It's a long story..." She momentarily glanced back at the butler. "...That I will tell you later. But for now," she discretely touched the cameo at her neck, "we should focus on the matter at hand."

"I found nothing, my lady," he informed her. "I'm sorry."

A sudden realization lit up her eyes and glanced back at the butler one more time before speaking again.

"Don't be," she told him. "Our search may very well be drawing to a close."

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"I think Ciel Phantomhive and his butler may be searching for the same thing we are. Furthermore, I think I know our culprit. We only have to get to him before they do."

The silver-eyed man blinked at his mistress in confusion, his lengthy silver hair swaying to one side as he tilted his head slightly.

"I assume you will explain everything later?" He inquired.

"Yes, Emmett. In fact, let's go home. There's nothing that requires us to stay any longer and I would prefer not to make smalltalk if I don't have to."


	2. How Life at Rowan Manor was Disrupted

After the ball, Florence acted quite unusual. She spent the next few days either in her study or in the library scribbling through pages upon pages of parchment. Emmett was becoming exceedingly concerned. He had seldom ever seen his lady like this. What was worse, whenever he would approach her about what it was she was doing, she would dismiss him, telling him that she was almost finished with it and that he need not worry.

One day, when the man could bear it no more, he knocked on her study door and entered quietly.

"Fleur? My lady?" Emmett began approaching her, despite her previous rebuffs. "You've been acting strangely ever since we returned home from that blasted ball."

Before the girl could deny it, he reached for the papers spread on the table, but she scrambled to gather them all to her chest, blocking the writing from his view.

"It's nothing, Emmett," she insisted. "You don't need to worry yourself about it."

He gave her a doubting look.

"It was that demon, wasn't it?" He accused. "There was something about him, something he said to you... He upset you? Or frightened you?"

Shaking her head, she denied it.

"No, no, no, Emmett. I finally have a lead on this Jack the Ripper case, that's all."

"Then why won't you share it with me?" He demanded, taking the seat opposite her. "You promised you would tell me everything."

"And I will, just not quite yet!"

He gave her a sullen stare. His silence was almost enough to physically hurt the girl.

"I thought there were no secrets between us," he murmured, almost to himself.

Reaching out, she placed a gentle hand on his and flashed him a regretful expression.

"I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered apologetically. "This is just something I don't know how to tell you. But I promise, once I decide how, I will tell you everything. I give you my word..."

"...And your word is your bond," he finished, closing his gloved fingers around hers.

A tender smile formed on her lips and her eyes glowed with silent gratitude. Emmett felt his frustration with her evaporating. After several moments, he sighed and released her delicate digits. Then with a swan-like lightness in his step, he rose from his seat and stepped around the desk in order to place a cherishing kiss on the young woman's earthy hair.

"I only care about your wellbeing, Fleur," he spoke lovingly. "I hope you'll remember that."

"I always do," she responded sincerely. "You've always taken such good care of me. I only ask that you trust me occasionally, when I beg it of you, as I am now."

"Petal, I trust you," he assured her, turning towards the door again. Under his breath, he muttered, "...to be young and naive at times, but always, always wonderful."

This last part went unheard by Florence, who merely sat in thoughtful silence as the door swung shut behind her friend and mentor. The moment he was gone, she let the papers flop back to the desk and slouched in her seat.

She had been writing for the past three days and her memories had filled an entire notebook. At last she had found herself struggling to scrape any more from her weary mind. What she had been able to recall would be helpful, however; this she knew.

Rising from her seat, she went to her window and gazed numbly out across the orange-bathed twilight landscape. A small touch of bitterness washed over her, drowning out the manic excitement she had felt for the past few days. It had taken her so long to finally become confident in herself in this place and she felt like her sought-after sense of belonging was beginning to slip away.  
The thrill of encountering Sebastian was giving away to the feeling that the world around her was no longer her own. Was the place she had worked so hard to make for herself made meaningless by his appearance? Did she no longer belong?

With a shake of her shoulders, she straightened and slipped a smile onto her lips. There was no point to such thoughts. All that mattered was that she was here now and that made it just as much her world as it was Sebastian's or Emmett's. Besides, if she allowed herself to remain disturbed by it, then Emmett would be certain to notice her change in mood even more than he already have.

He would likely blame himself and she wouldn't stand for that. He had done enough of that already.

No, she couldn't upset Emmett. She would never be able to.

But what her course of action should be at the moment was unclear. All she had to go on were hazy memories and gut instincts. But one thing was certain: she was going to see that butler again. The very thought of it sent thrills down her spine. ~ An hour or so later, a knock sounded on the study door and Emmett's silver haired head popped inside discretely. He informed her that dinner was ready and escorted her down into the dining room where her other two servants, Arthur and Byron Breckler were already awaiting her arrival.

They said grace, led by the chief of staff, then they all sat down to eat together.

This was what made Lady Florence Rowan both so different and so well-loved. From the moment she had taken over the estate and taken on her two servants, she had treated them as equals. They dined together. They vacationed together. They conversed with each other freely. Though her strange ways had caused a great deal of initial discomfort for the two young men, they had quickly come to realize that she was genuine and came to admire her deeply for it.

"Mmm," the lady sounded, her mouth full. "This beef stroganoff is wonderful! Who cooked tonight?"

"My, lady, please don't speak with your mouth full," Emmett chastised her absently.

"Emmett did, as usual," Arthur mumbled.

"She always comments on the dinner when Emmett makes it," the other twin, Byron muttered.

After carefully swallowing her bite, she turned to her faithful friend and wonderful cook with praise in her eyes.

"Absolutely delicious, Emmett! Thank you!" She told him.

"I'm pleased that you are enjoying it, my lady," he said softly, continuing to eat.

Byron mumbled something inaudible to himself and looked cross.

"Oh, Byron, no need to be like that. You're a fine cook too!" She pacified him. "Your er..." The boy looked at her hopefully. "Cheese fondue is always wonderful!" She invented, remembering that one time he had meant to make buttermilk, but accidentally somehow incorporated cheese, making it a fondue-like cheesy mess.

The young boy was nonplussed.

"No, Lady Florence is right!" His brother began, mischief in his eyes. "You're not such a bad cook! Sometimes the food you make is actually edible!"

"Well, that's better than you, you lazy, dozy, bum polishing, mud slurping son-of-a-"

"Byron!" Emmett warned, a rare dangerous look in his silver eyes.

"-Witch."

Florence cupped her hand over her mouth and giggled at her servants antics.

"Fle-Florence," her butler of sorts chided. "You really shouldn't encourage this type of behavior. It's unbefitting of the servants of a countess!"

"Oh, go easy on them, Emmett! After all, they're even younger than I am."

"That is no excuse! They have been generously taken in by you, clothed and fed by you, and they should show you some respect!"

"If they respect me, I want it to be because they feel like it would be right to respect me, not for the sake of some stupid code of etiquette!" She insisted. "I may be the lady of this household and their employer, but I'm only two years their senior. I am not so much wiser than them. I don't want our relationship to be handled like glass, so careful not to break any rules of conduct that it never grows. A wildflower has better roots than a potted plant!"

At this, the twins, who had been watching their mistress in awe, erupted into applause and brief cheers.

"Hear hear, Lady Florence!"

"Well said, indeed!"

The head servant looked conflicted. He inwardly deeply admired his lady for her desire to treat everyone as equals, yet at the same time, he knew that such an ideal could not be publicly upheld in this day and age. As a countess, she would be expected to create trends and new fashions for the public by supporting certain ideals. As a woman, she was expected not to invent these ideals herself.

"If I may say something, Lady Florence," Byron began tentatively. "Arthur and I _are_ grateful to all the kindness and generosity you have shown us and we _do_ respect you, very much. Sometimes it is difficult to know how to show it, but we try to do our duties to the best of our ability for you. And we hope that you are pleased with us, because that would make us very happy."

Shyly, the young man ducked his head and continued eating his food, his cheeks burning from being the center of attention. He did not see Florence smiling warmly at him.

"Oh, you darlings! I am always pleased with you and always proud of you!" She gushed, making the twins ears burn with both pride and embarrassment.

There was a moment of silence at the dinner table as everyone resumed their eating. Everyone, that is, but Emmett. He was staring at his lady with a pensive expression, his eyebrows tugged tight. After a moment, the young woman looked up at him and raised a curious eyebrow.

"What is it, Emmett?"

He gazed at her for an instant more, before motioning to his own upper lip, never taking his eyes off her. Understanding his meaning, she attempted to lick her lip clean of any of the remains of her meal, but she did not taste anything. Reaching up to wipe her mouth with her bare fingers, she felt one side, then went to the other.

Emmett's gentle gloved hand stopped her, then turned her chin up to him as he drew near and lifted his own napkin to her lips. With slow, gentle motions he smoothed the cloth across her lips, lingering ever so slightly at the corner of her mouth. Once more, he traced the rim of her lips, delicately studying her cupid's bow. Then he pulled away when she smiled at him.

"I was saving that bit for later," she said teasingly, pretending to mourn the loss of the traces of stroganoff.

With a returned smile, the silver-haired man shook his head and turned his attention back to the remains of his own meal. After a moment, he stood and began collecting the dishes from the table, first his lady's, then his own. The other servants would take care of their own.

"So, what about you, Art?" Byron asked his brother teasingly in a voice so soft the girl had to strain to overhear it. "Does that mean you were saving that rail polish for later?"

"Whistleblower," Arthur glowered.

"Bum-polisher," the brother laughed.

"Now what's all this about bum-polishing?" Florence inquired, rising from her seat.

"Oh, it's nothing, m'lady!" Arthur hastily assured her, looking at his counterpart warningly.

"Arthur just gave the handrail on the staircase a thorough polishing today, that's all."

The woman gave them a suspicious glance.

"I thought that was your job today, Byron."

"It was, my lady," he admitted, trying not to burst out laughing. "Arthur merely helped a bit with the finishing touches."

Florence crossed her arms and gazed down at her two servants, one of their faces glowing with glee, the other practically grey with guilt.

"What are you not telling me?" She demanded like a cross mother.

"Well, I did polish the handrail today, my lady," Byron explained, holding back his laughter with great mastery. "But Arthur didn't know. And after I was done, he decided to take a little ride to the bottom of the steps and... well..."

Giggling like a child now, Byron turned his brother around by the shoulders and revealed the large greasy polish mark across his rear. Covering her mouth, Florence giggled like a schoolgirl along with Byron. Poor Arthur stood silently, taking his ridicule. It was several moments before the lady of the house had the good sense to compose herself.

"Arthur, you know better than to ride the handrails," she said trying to be firm, despite her remaining laughter.

"Yes, m'lady," the boy said sullenly, turning around to face her once more.

Lovingly, Florence looked at the two boys. Being in their company was almost enough to remove all of her troubled and preoccupied thoughts from her... almost. Her mind turned towards her papers upstairs. With a resigned sigh, she put on one last smile before addressing them again.

"Good, now, get your polished rear to the kitchen with Emmett and take care of the dishes. Let him know I'll be in my study."

"Yes, m'lady."

"Very good, my lady," acknowledged Byron.

As the young woman moved to leave the room and Arthur did the same with the dishes, Byron couldn't help but gaze after his mistress. It did him good to see her smile, especially when she had been acting so strangely lately. Silently, he prayed that she was alright.

As he collected the napkins, he couldn't help but note that Emmett's cloth–the one he had seen him wipe Lady Florence's mouth with–was curiously clean, as if she hadn't had food on her lips at all.


End file.
